Cold Feet, Cold Hands
by pozarpel
Summary: It's half court expectation and half her own foolish insistence on modest femininity, he's sure, but sometimes it seems like she wears enough fabric to swaddle a bear and enough trinkets to fill a dungeon hall. And now… And now she is wearing very little.
1. Chapter 1

Judal surveys what could loosely be termed his work. It's an ingenious plan about forty minutes in the making, give or take a few, and the majority of the time was spent waiting for the Eighth Imperial Princess to take off her clothes.

It's half court expectation and half her own foolish insistence on modest femininity, he's sure, but sometimes it seems like she wears enough fabric to swaddle a bear and enough trinkets to fill a dungeon hall. And now…

And now she is wearing very little.

She says nothing, but there's no need for words to sense all that discomfort. Girl's never shown an elbow, he's pretty sure, let alone her slender little tummy. When she shifts from foot to foot, the gold beads on her jingle, and he sees the very second she realizes she's dressed like a harem girl—she stiffens up something fierce. Kougyoku does not quite think things through.

Belly dancing had probably sounded like splendid fun at the time, just that well-loved kind of fun she can't have when Ka Kobun is hovering around. Judal took care of that earlier; her convoy is too easy to bait and trick, and Kougyoku pretends to believe it when he tells her Ka Kobun is taking the day off.

He decides he's had enough time to enjoy that awkwardness when she opens her mouth to speak—he jerks a thumb at the door behind him, wearing that best behavior smile that everyone always eats up. "Relax, it's closed, locked. It's just me, geez. Didn't you say you wanted to learn?" He watches her as she shuffles towards a mirror, eyes wide—_he can see her butt, not bad_—as she examines herself, holding her hands to her face out of habit. There aren't any big cumbersome sleeves there now, just bangles filched from the far-off lands of his travels. He's too amused to be impatient with her ensuing silence, amused and strangely, distracted—

"Well… yes, but I didn't think I'd have to dress like a common harlot," she grinds out, and Judal vaguely remembers something about Kougyoku and harlots, something, something, so he quickly responds.

"You don't look like a harlot, idiot, you look like a dancer. You're seriously embarrassed?" He takes a step forward as she swerves on her heel, glowering right at him, leaning up in his very airspace.

"It's shameful!" There's that fierceness, some fire; yes, to raise her voice like that at him, she really could take on a dungeon. If she could get angry about more things than her bullshit modesty complex, he thinks sourly.

"Aah, so you really are a haggish woman," he says, tone edged with disappointment. "You said it looked fun."

"Not for a princess." Now she's pouting, pouting and crossing her arms over herself, and he stifles some laughter but self-control has never been his strong suit. She is even redder, red like peaches, apples, fruits she's never seen yet, things he thought to bring back once or twice before discarding the idea.

"Kougyoku, since when have you ever let that stop you? Quit kidding. You know what else you said?"

She shrinks in a bit on herself, redder, redder still, knowing full well-

"You said," he clears his throat, and launches into a piss poor Kougyoku imitation—all clasped hands and high-pitched wittering, a faux-dreamy sigh. "'Oh my, if I could entertain my husband like that…'" He bats his eyelashes at her—spots a clenched fist throbbing at her side.

"Judal…!"

He rubs at his eyes when he laughs again, and she crosses her arms, turning one beautiful hip to him as she pointedly looks at a wall. "_My husband_ would have no such vulgar expectations of me," she says, indignant—he can see red on her ears too, oh, she must know that saying something like that is beyond stupidity. Her naïveté makes him sick to his stomach sometimes, but now he's in too good a mood to tear at her romanticism.

"If not of you, he'll go to some whore," he snorts, because it's still just easy banter, and (un)surprisingly, it is that prospect that makes her reconsider. Her shoulders slump, she settles her palm on the heat of her cheek and sighs that same sigh he tried to imitate moments ago. No one does it better than Kougyoku.

"Then… yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes!" Her arms are still folded across her chest, but at least she's facing him again—still embarrassed and fed up with the game. "Show me, then!"

"How imperious," he drawls, flashes teasing tongue at her while she fumes, then straightens up with his hands firm on his hips. "It is really easy, though, you'll like it." He smiles at her sidelong, and she does everything but return the gesture. She just stares at him hard, as he cracks his fingers and raises his hands up into place, beaming in spite of her disapproval.

"For a brute, you're very graceful," she observes in a more neutral tone of voice, finally, and Judal can feel her eyes on him as she slowly eases into the idea of looseness. Court is all restrictions and rules, and it takes Kougyoku longer than he'd like to forget them, sometimes. But now he's got her attention. And usually, that's all it takes.  
Hands held still and curled above his head, he begins to circle his hips—that's easy enough. Kougyoku's rapt on it, fascinated by the idea of a boy dancing like a whore, no doubt. And perhaps by the fact that Judal looks good swaying so lewdly.

"You can manage that much, can't you?" he asks her after a few moments, and again he sees her freeze up.

Beats tick by, and, "Where did you learn to do that?" is the thing that Kougyoku chooses to say, with genuine curiosity by the looks of it. She's still flushed in the face.

"Whores, where else," he says flippantly, and she covers her face at this point, head lowered as she cries out at him.

"What makes you think I want to hear about that!"

"You asked? Hey, hey, calm down, granny."

"I'm fourteen, you pig-headed jerk!"

Fists again. He decides to defuse the situation, drifting over to her and clapping a hand on her bare shoulder. She flinches. Oddly, not out of fear or annoyance.

She has literally never had a man touch her bare shoulder before.

The thought makes him want to start laughing. This whole thing is stupid. Judal learned to dance like a harem girl when they brought him some at thirteen- their theoretical purpose got way boring way fast, he thinks. But he liked the way they moved. And he liked the way they dressed. And his sense of shame has been decidedly defunct since he was born. Its absence is what allows him to take his hands down, down, down to rest peaceably on her waist—_skin so soft._

"If you are, you really shouldn't have trouble dancing. Lots of girls do it. I do it. It's fun, Kougyoku," he says enthusiastically, "Show me, come on."

"Your hands are cold," she grumbles, but he can feel some tension slipping, and finally, movement, however small at first. She's no dancer—she's a fighter, and not everyone can be both. Her motion's halting. It comes out in uncertain jerks and only worsens with her frustration. He can't see her face from behind, but knows she must be all bothered for embarrassment, and that's _hilarious._

"Are you seriously trying?" he asks incredulously and squeezes at her belly. It was meant to be something of a playful gesture, but his hands remain, fingers splayed over her stomach. _So small, really small, not just soft but slim too. _

"Is that really necessary?" She asks hotly, unable to jerk away with just the force of visceral aversion when he's holding her like that—he's holding her more firmly than he meant to, he supposes, but he doesn't let up. Can't now.

"Mmn." Is what he says. "I'm helping."

She's halfway through an incensed _no_ when he claps his hands at the very top of her hips, over the strings of colorful beads and the nigh-transparent pink fabric constituting her skirt. And with a gentleness he wasn't aware he had, he guides her hip: left, right, left, working up a steady rhythm.

He has an excuse, but these are not quite hollow touches.

"It's that easy?" Kougyoku says, turning her head up, moving with him. She seems pleased, on the cusp of delight. And not at all caught up in whatever is shaking at the peripherals of Judal's head.

"It's that easy. He'll really like that," he says, and it comes out sharper than he intended it to.

"Who?"

"Your fantasy husband, idiot." He swallows thickly. "…Maybe a little faster, most music in the west is much faster." But he quickens in gradual steps, until the beads on her skirt are rustling and jumping, and her sweet sashaying is almost as natural as the way her dainty little fingers pick up a blade. She puts more energy into it, too, well-encouraged and hardly tentative any longer. He gives variety when variety is called for, back and forth and side to side, in varying tempos and in circles and in lines.

Then Judal's doing nothing but holding his hands over her body as if they're fixed there, but she's too occupied to notice that in the midst of her first dance. She must like the way the beads rustle and ring now, he thinks. He eyes the back of her pale neck, the necklace shifting there, and he lets his sights trail south—down the line of her spine, and her scandalous shoulders, pronounced shoulder blades for one so well-fed, to the small of her back, and down and down to the sway of her waist, to the subtle curve of her hips. To hold them is a prelude to melting. To watch them makes his thoughts haze even further.

He doesn't like it. But to look away would be some severe degree of worse.

He hasn't felt this way about a woman—can Kougyoku even be called that?—since—since—

It happens. He feels it shift in his pants. It's hard, annoying, it sets in a stark panic with that swell of warmth, as if someone let heat magic loose in his groin and to burn holes in the pit of his gut. He rips away from her, eyes wide for a second—it's not shameful, but to let her know would be more than unwise and frankly, a little terrifying, whatever it means. He's not of the opinion that such a physical response warrants any emotion other than want, but want itself is a novel issue. Judal wants for nothing.

Moreover, it's annoying, so annoying, these stupid things—Kougyoku looks at him for a moment, and Judal is almost angry except that it was his idea but how the hell was he supposed to know—

"Wh—"

"Things to do!" he shouts, not looking at her, looking like an idiot; walking's out of the question so he calls to the rukh (it's pink, some of it's pink, and it's his, and the shrill of alarm shuffles his headstuffs again.) Gravity magic is close to second nature now—he floats to the one window, ripping the curtain aside in a frantic rush of speed only comparable to times when he's giving chase, not running away.

"Wait, Judal—what about my clothes—Judal? Judal! You moron!"

-0-0-0-

Later she brings him a peach when he settles in a tree. He looks at it, it takes a second to realize it's a peace offering. As if she did something wrong. As if she values this one patchwork friendship enough to swallow her pride like that. As if she thinks she can wheedle companionship out of him like that.

She doesn't apologize, but she says, "We're friends, right?"

He bites deep into the peach, chews, and spits—makes a retching noise. "As if I'm friends with someone like you."

It's rather convincing, he thinks.


	2. Chapter 2

Ahh, sorry, I wrote this in a rush of activity and probably got lazy. But it was kind of asked for, and this pairing needs more things, so.

* * *

The palace was full of humanstink again, and Judal wanted to hide. Well, not hide. Sneak. He wanted to get lost in the enormity of the Imperial Palace like he did as a child, such that nobody could find the magi for hours and hours and he was free to do as he pleased without interference from witches and watchmen. He was still free to do as he pleased—more free, now—but at the moment it pleased him to take a break on palace grounds, and that could not be achieved because it was swelling with undesirables clamoring for his attention.

He did what he could.

He brushed past them, flew over them, glared and gave shivers all alike because he wasn't a child anymore, he was sixteen years old and a full-fledged magi and a carnage crow to beat the rest, and he wanted recover some private time in a place of some fucking stability for maybe two fucking hours before he had to deal with brainless people and tear up the world. (He didn't mind the latter, if only such a task could afford him some time to himself.) Gyokuen and Al-Thamen were so persistent and so _pushy_, as if he owed them anything. They'd push and push and push, and Judal was keen on the idea that maybe they should fucking defer instead. He was an _oracle_.

But he was tired. That conspicuous guy had given him the slip. For the first time, he hadn't been able to crush a man like a pea bud, and each moment he dwelled on the fact, he inflamed his wounded ego. He didn't want to face Al-Thamen. They wouldn't be pleased. It wasn't that he was afraid, but rather that Judal was in no mood to be devalued by them.

He just wanted to be alone for a while.

"Judal!" He felt himself on the cusp of losing it, of stabbing, stabbing, stabbing.

But it was just Kougyoku. And she was hardly worth the glowering. He just turned away from her, hair whipping to the side, and resolutely walked away.

"A—ah—wait—wait! I have something to ask you," she said. He heard the shallow thud of her steps scurrying after him. "It won't be annoying."

He stopped, feeling as though steam was rolling up in his gut and rising. But he inclined his head at her. "Won't it?"

"No," she said sourly, then grinned the most dopey grin he'd ever seen and leveled a sword at him. He almost jumped. _Almost. _

"What."

"Fight me!" She said, and beat a fist against her chest, and Judal contracted his brow for five whole seconds to better take the scene in, and then he laughed.

"Pass."

"Oh, I see. You're tired, from your journey." She looked at him with grave understanding. He bristled at the thought—she lowered her sword to her side. "Do you want to rest?"

_Yes, actually. _But he gave the Judal answer. "Not at all. Who do you think you're talking to, huh?" He craned and cracked his neck, snickering as Kougyoku flinched at the sound. He eyed her sword—clearly, she couldn't be serious. She couldn't have improved enough to actually try to take him on in his absence—no, that wasn't even a possibility! What mere swordsman could take him on? None.

Ah, what endearing, refreshing _stupidity _on the part of his favorite princess.

"In that case, I do challenge you to a formal duel." Oh, she was beaming. This was precious. He drew his wand out. It hadn't done much against that dungeon-capturing little shit, but it should be enough to strike fear into a dainty courtdweller like Kougyoku.

"Are you sure about that?" He said dangerously, directing his wand at her throat. It was something of a nice feeling, to know he could blow out her neck whenever he pleased. He consoled himself with that. But she didn't seem scared.

"No, no, Judal," she said insistently. "I meant fencing. No magic and things of that nature; I just want to fence with you. I have gotten quite good."

"Pass." He waved his hand dismissively at her, but she stomped her foot and clutched the sword handle so tightly that her knuckles went white.

"No, really! I understand if you're tired—" "I'm _not_—" "but please don't dismiss me just because you think this is a dead-end silly pretend hobby! I really have become skillful. Please let me show you!"

He had to consider that. On second thought, he was beginning to regret ever encouraging her to begin with. She'd latched on with such seriousness, and now he couldn't shake her off. He had to give credit for her determination—he remembered vividly her whining and wittering, of how she didn't want to always be seen-and-not-heard, about how she wanted strength and worth, about how Kouha was her age and _he _always got to swing swords around and he was a _brute _and she wanted to learn to defend herself and it went from reasonable to aggravating way too fast, until Kouen and Judal finally gave some minimal effort towards setting the tiny princess up with fencing.

And now she was standing before him with this outright stupid will to fight. Worse yet, she could actually beat him, if she really had improved as much as she claimed. What a brat. He clicked his tongue.

"Well, if you're _begging so bad_, " Judal said, letting disgust seep into his tone and enjoying her instant self-conscious withdrawal. He let that hang in the air for a few moments, and then, in all his graciousness, "Sure, I'll play with you for an hour or something." His eyes shifted downward, frowning imperceptibly, and continued.

"Later."

"Later?"

"I'm _busy. _Some of us do _work." _

"You liar, you're just going to nap on a roof, I've seen you do it—"

"Shut up, I'll fry your hair."

"My hair is not my one pride anymore, so I don't care! I can fight now, too. I have bested the guards."

"You have _not." _

"Some of them," she sniffed, about ready to let the conversation come to a close. "Well, it is a promise, then."

"I didn't promise," Judal said, a tad too quickly. "I never promised."

"Then, promise."

"No. I said I would. I will. Geez, Kougyoku, you're losing it. You're as bad a brute as Kouha." He clunked his fist against her head, but she didn't wince or draw back. She raised her sleeve to her mouth, and he wasn't sure if she was pouting or smirking. He stared.

"I am going to be as bad as you," she announced. There was something about that—he liked the idea and didn't like it, until he ultimately decided such a thing was impossible for someone like Kougyoku.

"Let's see you say that when you stop crying all the time." He was leaning back now, regarding her with detached interest, planning to slip away as soon as it waned. This side of Kougyoku was just fun, though. She followed him around like a duckling to its mother, and she was so embarrassingly set on impressing him.

"Let's see you say that after a contest of swordsmanship!"

He wouldn't be impressed if she really did manage to beat him, so it was probably best to ditch her before she tried to coerce him any further with all this silliness. He chewed the inside of his cheek.

"Wow. You sure are taking this seriously. You gotta calm down, Granny, you can't regain youth by swinging weaponry around willy-nilly and challenging people to duels you can't win."

"I don't care if I can't win. I just want you to see."

Her solemnity was a little disquieting, quite honestly. She was staring right at him, and he wanted to tell her it was unladylike—but then she might go back to her demure glances and lowered lashes, and that stuff made him want to puke. The frame of mind it took to stare right at him—that's what he liked about Kougyoku. So, instead:

"…Those guards were probably going easy on you. Because you're the sweet princess, and everybody loves you, you know. They wouldn't wanna risk their heads and hearts by making you sob like a baby."

Later, Judal sat on his ass on the floor of the training building, racked with deep breaths, and Kougyoku—Kougyoku stood in front of him with explosive glee, sword en point, where his had clattered to the floor. She was so happy she looked like she wanted to cry, and Judal swatted at her when she offered her trembling hand to him for aid.

He told her he'd been going easy on her, too. She didn't fight him on it.


	3. Chapter 3

Judal decided that they had to get a bigger magic carpet when they got back. Maybe they'd find one in the 45th dungeon, if they had the spare time to make a grab for goods. His carpet was his, but too small, especially when he was carting around Al Tharmen guys and Kou royalty. Kouha had clung to his arm the whole way to the 39th dungeon, and a grim-faced Judal had refrained from shoving him off the carpet merely because he thought capturing the dungeon would have been hard for a prince with several broken bones.

Kougyoku tempted him in different ways.

At the beginning, she was prim and proper, clutching her sword with a sense of solemn duty. By the end of the first hour, she was bursting with joyful energy, leaning to and fro over the side of the carpet—in one instance, Judal had to yank her back by the hair. The princess was troublesome. But this was one of the sparse times she'd been able to actually leave court, so maybe her excitement was founded and somewhat understandable.

Not to mention the idea of capturing a dungeon was making her heart thrum and sing. Her pulse was wild. He knew because she was sitting too close, rubbing up against him. She pointed at sights below and asked too many questions, and Judal was habitually not serious about dungeon-capturing quests, but her prattling and her proximity made him want to focus.

His fifth king candidate—he was racking up power in scores, his Kou Empire was glorious. Even if this one was a little goofy, she could slit a man's throat with such enamoring ease. She had skill, she had determination, and she had the look he liked, the body language of someone seductively destructive. Once she harnessed the power of the 45th Djinn, he wanted to watch her level a town, tear the ground from under their feet, and leave wreckage in her wake.

He asked her to depend on him and said he'd rely on her in turn, now that she wasn't entirely a dumb little girl anymore. Her grin almost split her face, which he didn't quite comprehend but didn't dwell on. She was happy for the recognition, he supposed, and as far as he was concerned, the princess deserved it. He had no doubts that she could conquer the dungeon. She certainly had enough excess energy for it.

Her little right hand knotted up in his chunnari at his side, and she raised her left to point again. She trembled. "That's it, isn't it?"

She was shrilling. He made a show of covering his ears and sticking out his tongue, but she didn't notice, she was stuck on the sight of the dungeon. He had to yank her backwards again because she was leaning out too much. Maybe he'd have to keep an eye on her more than he thought, if excitement-addled carelessness became her means of operation. He kept his hand on the lush fabric, even as Ka Kobun shot a look at him from behind.

"That's it," he said finally, as the carpet lurched and descended. Instead of shrieking, Kougyoku cheered, throwing her hands up. She was treating this like a game, like a pleasure visit.

The dungeon didn't resemble a tourist spot, as far as he knew. It was nestled in the ocean just off the coast, and even from a bird's eye view it screamed danger and peril, all whirlpools and torrents, water rushing down its sides. It looked abandoned. It looked dark, and damp, and lonely.

"The 19th dungeon, Vinea," Judal said knowingly, gripping Kougyoku tighter. "The Djinn of Sorrow and Isolation. I thought it'd be perfect for you. Even the dungeon looks like it's weeping."

"That's poetic," she said, delighted rather than affronted. "You picked it out just for me?"

"It should be at your difficulty level, which isn't that low." He responded, almost pensive. "But you should still wait for your babysitters to show up." He meant the troops that would arrive by ship within the hour. They were not useful as anything but the first front, frail human shields. Kougyoku nodded, and leaned her head on his shoulder, studying the dungeon's curves, corners and arches with warm eyes.

The carpet lurched again.

"Careful," Judal hissed, since her head had banged against his arm. "You're ridiculous. Imagine your crushing defeat by head trauma before even entering the dungeon."

She didn't snap back; she was almost apologetic. "I will be more careful inside. I promise. Thank you, Judal-chan." It sounded like she was thanking him for his concern, and he immediately wanted to set her straight, but by then she had righted herself and sent a look over the water, over the dungeon. It was quiet awe.

"It's very beautiful," she murmured, and he thought that suited her, too.

But now was a time for ferocity. That was the highest form of beauty that there was. He patted her cheek to capture her attention. "Head up, eyes out. Fast fingers and sharp eyes. The djinn is yours." A pause. "So long as _that guy_ doesn't pop out of nowhere."

Kougyoku's eyebrows pinched, curious rather than concerned. "What guy?"

Judal wondered if Sinbad could show up, and it pleased him as much as it revolted him—he was always in the way, a real road block he couldn't budge, but at least he was entertaining, and just watching him run when Judal blew up everything within a 30 yard radius was the zenith of fun. But Vinea was within the Kou Empire's borders, and Vinea was all Kougyoku's.

At least, that way, she didn't get to see the magi take a loss, and Judal didn't have to suffer another dock to his pride in front of someone who idolized him.

"Some nobody. Forget it." He clunked his fist on her head. "You're ready, aren't you? You're a born dungeon capturer. My taste is fucking impeccable."

Kougyoku slipped a look over her shoulder. Seeing that Ka Kobun was occupied watching the ship come in on the horizon, she snuggled in tighter, closer to Judal, her fist in his chunnari, as if it was safe. She didn't cling, she gripped. She felt security there. "Don't go too far." Her voice was not pleading so much as it was forceful, and Judal softened at that—his spine had been welded straight the second she closed in on him, and then he realized he was being dumb.

"Don't be a sissy." He gripped back and peeled her off his person in one rigid movement. "I know. My eyes will be on you." _When you take the dungeon, I want to see._

* * *

__

ouch these two :T anyway, thanks for reading & everything! There's going to be one more drabbley bit in Cold Feet, Cold Hands, and then a one shot with these two in the future : I'm really looking forward to getting to that!


	4. Chapter 4

The voyage back to the Kou Empire is a quiet one. At least at first. The seagulls sweep about in arcs on the same gusts that whip the sails and chill Kougyoku's cheeks pink. She typically does not like the feel of standing on the deck, all creaking floorboards and tottering heels, but here she is fixed like a statue at the stern, gripping the polished railings and gazing out over the ocean. Sindria is a dot, grey-blue and distant, shrouded in sea-mist and robust in memory. Ka Kobun is silent at her side. Every one of her attendants can see it. It's not often that Kougyoku can conceal what she is feeling.

There is a sense of heavy heat gathering at the edges of her eyes. It's only the burn of saltwater in the wind—she shuts her eyelids tight, everything's tight and taut from the curl of her toes to the clenching ache of her chest. She is done with crying, and mourning something that never was, and hoping against all evidence. She is done with surrendering her own significance, too.

When she looks again, Sindria is gone. And there is a black star instead, a speck she knows very well—she leans over on the railing, squinting skyward. The magic carpet moves much faster than an Imperial ship. Her concern is if he is with one of those unsettling men whose very faces instill a sense of discomfort in her jaw. Objectively, Judal is unsettling himself. But not to her, not really.

Her second concern is where he's going. But the carpet approaches, falls in one swift lurch, and with the easy grace that pervades his every motion, the oracle of the Kou Empire drops, grandiose fabric trailing behind in hand. Kougyoku has seen him coming, but she stumbles back in surprise when she realizes that he's going to drop on her.

Judal lands on his own two feet, sturdy on the swaying surface, and bundles up the magic carpet under one arm, glancing around with that dizzying smile playing at his mouth. How inane, Kougyoku thinks, frowning—she cannot quite forget his behavior in Sindria. "Hello, Judal." She says, cheerful and confused, "Hakuryuu isn't here."

"I know that," he says, all careless exasperation that evaporates in seconds. Fickle as he is, he must have a reason for being there. Or something. "Ah! But, so, how was Sindria?"

She furrows her eyebrows, lips settling into a thin line. He's not one for idle conversation, she knows that much. And he hasn't truly taken an interest in her for ages now, a fact that had taken some getting used to but had mostly lost its sting. "Judal," she says pointedly, "what is it that you want? Where did you come from?"

"Places," he responds, dismissive as he wags a hand at her. "I just want to talk is all. Alone."

"Very well," Kougyoku says, her brave front on. She turns to her convoy with one sure movement, looking at him expectantly.

"Ka Kobun," is all she says, but behind the princess, Judal levels a gaze of pure chill at him. He flinches.

"Yes, well, we'll be within sight," Ka Kobun says with uncertainty. He knew there was no blatant danger in letting both of them alone, but quite understandably, the magi gave him some bad vibes. "If you need anything."

"We won't," Judal says, smiling like an angel, and loops his arm around Kougyoku's shoulders, roughly turning her to face the sea. She bristles at the touch, as usual—he waits for the fading footsteps of her guards, throws a glance over his shoulder to be sure they'd left properly. Then, with the disregard of familiarity, he dips his head, inches from her face.

"So, what the hell were you thinking?"

He relishes the second her blood runs cold, tightens his grip on her arm. A tiny girl like Kougyoku—she can't exactly tear herself away. But her brave front sustains—yeah, he supposes, the pride of a whore's daughter is a formidable thing.

"I am not sure what you are talking about," she says, all cool, collected priss. "Don't you have something to be doing? Someone to be making miserable?" That's a little sharp, but he glides over it—it's true, and he doesn't care, he's proud that it's true. If Kougyoku thinks to wound him, she should find some other sword.

"Oh, I do. But they're next. You are so caught," he says. "You know, it's your choice—"

"Huh?"

"It is your choice, I said. Are you deaf? Deaf and dumb, our precious princess, that would sure explain a lot!" She turns her eyes to him then, a full-force glare. He smiles.

"I am not big on loyalty shit. Honestly, you know I don't care if you decide to turn tail on us. One less dungeon capturer—big deal—I would hardly beg for you to come back." Her chest hurts again. She reminds herself, pointedly, that she is done crying, but he senses the quaver and loves it, pushes on and on and on.

"I have eyes and ears everywhere. You don't want to be a general in the great empire we've made? You want to be a Sindrian whore?"

"You will stop," she grinds out through her teeth. "I will be no such thing."

"You're not going to be his queen, that's for sure—"

"No, I will not." She says, solid and firm. He stops, then. "And I will not turn my back on my country." That doesn't mean I always have to agree with it.

He seems bewildered.

"You can stop trying to scare me now." She says, more softly. Someone like Judal—if she thinks hard enough, she could construe their discourse as something else, as if he's trying to shame her into staying with them. And she would. The Empire, with all its flaws and fallouts, is the only thing close to home that she has. Same as Judal. But there was no way to convince Judal out of a war. She'd have to wait for her brother. "Do you want something to eat?"

He smiles again, tight—his suspicions still haven't subsided, but she's not sure how to play her cards. Does she even have any to play?

"You listen, Kougyoku." His eyes flash like roiling fire, eager to consume her secret thoughts. "If you are not on our side, you are against us, and _we will destroy you_."

"And you don't wish to do that?" she asks, alight with a shred of hope. He shakes his head, vicious.

"No. I'd love to."

She chokes down her hurt and she stifles her pain and she takes it as a compliment, as praise, because Judal loves to crush those he thinks strong, and he thinks her strong, and all along that was the basis of what they had, the foundation that bound her to him. Strength, power. The things Judal lived for and thrived on—the things Kougyoku had thought she wanted very much, once.

Maybe it's shock. She swallows thickly, her throat is full of bile at the easy betrayal, and her head is pulsing with incomprehensible heartbreak. Judal slips his hand down her shoulder, down her arm, and the movement would be soothing were she not suddenly terrified of him.

"As for food…" he says, drawing away from her and patting his lithe abdomen. "Don't mind if I do." He brushes past her like sea wind, and Kougyoku realizes Judal was never a constant to begin with. Whether he's on her side or not, he's no good. He is… lost. Lost to her, most of all.

She feels as though she's shipwrecked, insular and stranded, drifting in a bone-chilling ocean. The strength leaves her- she's on her own, she's always been on her own, not Sindria nor Kou will take her whole. Both Sinbad and Judal will not ever...

The tears come, and don't stop.


End file.
